


I Got You Easter, Baby

by sixtysevenlmpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Season/Series 08, easter fic, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/sixtysevenlmpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluffy, holiday-themed ficlet written on Easter Sunday, featuring silly, playful brothers being brothers, bonus Cas being Cas and a Dean who just wants to see Sam happy. I apologise for the crappy title - it's provisional, I swear. Originally posted on <a href="http://sixtysevenlmpala.tumblr.com/post/46809427520/did-someone-say-wincest-easter-fluff">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Got You Easter, Baby

“D’you ever regret not having Easter when we were kids?” Sam asked casually. He had his feet propped up on the table in the study, and he was looking over the top of his book at Dean, who he’d called in to ramble to about an interesting piece of lore about two minutes ago. Dean blinked at the sudden subject change, not bothering to wonder where the hell that came from because it was Sam, and his brain worked at about a thousand times the pace of a normal person’s.

“Uh.” Dean shrugged. “Not really,” he answered honestly. Easter had never really been a _thing_ for them – when they were younger, John would either forget or mutter something about there being no point when there was important business to attend to. So now, ever since they grew up, it wasn’t a thing that was ingrained into them. Dean wasn’t concerned. Sure, he’d had an Easter with Ben and Lisa, enjoyed the chocolate, but honestly, in the life, he never really found the time for chocolate eggs or the Easter bunny. “I guess I never really thought about it that much.”

Sam held his gaze for a few seconds longer and then mirrored Dean’s shrug, turning his attention back to the book. “I do,” he said, in a simple, neutral tone which Dean saw through like glass, and that, apparently, was the end of that.

Dean hovered momentarily, leaning against the doorframe, but Sam didn’t look up again, and eventually he wandered out into the dining room with a frown on his face. He took a seat at the table and leaned forward, tapping out a quick rhythm on the wood as he occupied himself with brainstorming ways to banish that expression – thinly veiled disappointment with a wistful sprinkling of unhappiness – from Sam’s face.

***

He wasn’t very successful.

Two days later – making it one sleep ‘til Easter Sunday – Dean was out on a grocery run in the supermarket nearest to the Batcave, when suddenly there was a flutter of wings behind him. He whirled around lightning-fast, all defences flying up, but relaxed when he saw who it was.

“Damn it, Cas.” There had been a time when Cas’s arrival would arouse suspicion, maybe spell trouble, but that was years earlier. These days, he still came and went as he pleased – still scared the crap out of Dean every time – but it would always be a happy arrival.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted him, in the same old, infuriatingly calm tone.

“We’re in a supermarket,” Dean points out, glancing around. “You can’t just—“

“I understand you are looking for a way to celebrate Easter for Sam. To make him happy.”

“—angels with their freakin’ teleport crap – what?” Dean faltered. “How did you…?”

“I’ve been close by. And over time, you have become very easy to read.” Cas nodded. “I would like to offer some assistance, since you seem to be floundering somewhat on your own.”

“I’m not floundering,” Dean grumbled, “just taking my time,” and he started to walk down the supermarket aisle, grabbing up some organic shit for Sam.

“Nevertheless,” Cas said carefully, walking with him, “I would still like to help.”

Dean sighed. “Shoot.”

“Did you know,” Cas began, “that in the town of Haux, France, over 4,500 eggs are used to make one giant omelette every year for Easter?” Dean wrinkled his eyebrows and looked at Cas, puzzled. “It feeds up to a thousand people,” Cas supplied helpfully.

“How do you even know that?” Dean asked.

“I’m an angel of the Lord, Dean,” Cas sighed. “I have, as you might say, ‘been around the block’.”

“Right. Okay. Well, uh, that one’s a bit of a tall order, Cas,” Dean muttered.

“If you feel that the giant Easter omelette would be too difficult, I have some other alternatives. For example, in Germany people make bonfires out of their leftover Christmas trees. That may be nice.”

“We didn’t have a Christmas tree,” Dean explained boredly. This was hopeless. He just wanted to give Sam an Easter he’d remember – damn it, something _special_ – but all he had for inspiration were himself and Cas, both of which were proving equally unhelpful.

“During Easter week in Czechoslovakia,” Cas tried once more, “it is custom to whip your wife or significant other in the hopes that it will bring good luck, beauty and youth. Perhaps that is something Sam might like.”

Dean choked a little on his own air, coughing and staring at Cas. “That’s not exactly, uh, what I had in mind,” Dean spluttered, heading up towards the counter with a full basket of supplies and shaking his head.

Cas sighed, exasperated. “If you do not find any of those ideas satisfactory, I fear that you will be forced to settle for a typical Easter tradition, such as a certain Western concoction which I believe are called ‘Rice Krispie Cakes’ – very generic.”

Dean’s head snapped around and he immediately replied, “Wait, what?” He’d never had them himself, let alone made them, but he distantly remembered other kids going out of their minds for them when he was at school; these little paper cases of Rice Krispies doused in chocolate with coloured eggs on top.

Sammy had never had one, either.

“Cas, I could kiss you right now,” Dean said fervently, grinning at him and making a u-turn away from the tills.

“I would prefer if you did not,” Cas replied calmly, and with a wingbeat or two, he was gone.

A couple of minutes later, Dean was queueing up to pay, and this time around, he had a few extras in his basket.

***

It was Easter Sunday, and Sam just would not get out of the freakin’ house. Dean was starting to really question the value of the element of surprise, with the amount of work he was putting in just to get some time alone.

He’d attempted to wake Sam up early, intending to suggest he go for a morning jog, but all he got was Sam grumbling about interrupting his lay-in and then, shortly after, Sam tugging him back down into bed so he pretty much fell on top of him. Dean had straddled him, then, so maybe that particular delay was partially his fault.

Since they actually got up and dressed, he’d been making subtle hints, opening metaphorical doors and windows and God knows what else to throw Sam opportunities to _get out of the Batcave_ , but he just wasn’t biting, and Dean was growing tetchy. Sam was spoiling his own surprise, goddamn it.

“Beer!” he suddenly exclaimed, startling Sam, who had his arm around him on the couch. “I need beer, Sam. All outta beer.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And you want me to go get you some?”

Flashing him a winning smile, Dean prodded, “C’mon, Sammy, you know you wanna.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You can’t even get your beer anywhere close, I gotta drive for about a year,” he protested, but he was already getting up from his seat with a put-upon sigh. “Whatever, I’ve been cooped up all day anyway.” Dean allowed himself a victory fist-pump behind his back. “You’re lucky I love you,” Sam told him, shaking his head a little and rounding the sofa, dropping a kiss onto Dean’s cheek as he did so.

“You bet your ass I am,” Dean agreed, then called after him, “hey, no need to, y’know, hurry back or anything.”

Sam frowned, pausing by the front door, but he decided it was better not to ask. It usually was.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Dean sprang into action, sprinting down the halls to his bedroom to grab the shopping bag he’d stashed under his bed the day before and practically flinging himself into the kitchen. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. “I can totally do this.” He didn’t know why he was so nervous – actually, yeah, he did. It was because Sam had never had anything remotely Easter-ish in his life, _ever_ , and Dean was about a thousand per cent certain that he had some pretty high expectations to meet. The Internet had informed him that this was basically the easiest thing in existence to date, though, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

***

It was.

Dean knew that despite being a half-decent cook he hadn’t exactly _baked_ anything before, but Christ, he hadn’t expected to be this much of a failure.

His first hurdle-fall was opening the freakin’ bag of cereal. Usually, he’d just grab a blade and slice into whatever he was trying to open, but he didn’t actually happen to have one nearby, so he wrestled with the plastic. He got frustrated easily and pulled at it unnecessarily hard, so of course it ripped right open, and of course the little crispy grains burst out over the counter, skittering out over the floor all around Dean. Dean swore under his breath, but it was okay, it was _okay_ , because he still had enough left in the bag – less than half, but still, enough. He chalked that little slip-up up to nerves. He could totally do this.

But the next failure came when he tried to melt the chocolate. He didn’t really know anything about melting chocolate, only that it needed to be, y’know, hot, so he snapped it into little pieces, threw it into a bowl and kind of just… shoved it into the microwave. He took a second to ponder how long it would take before shrugging and guessing at ten minutes.

Ten minutes was wrong.

When Dean took it out, the chocolate was hot, alright, but it had just turned into this thick, hard mess. “Well _that_ doesn’t smell right,” Dean commented in disgust, screwing his face up as he dumped it in the trash. He sighed, and started again.

Somehow, he managed to stir the remaining Rice Krispies into the (successfully melted, point one to Dean) chocolate incorrectly, too. Dean wasn’t built for this, okay, he doesn’t have a baker’s hand or whatever the fuck, so maybe he was slightly too vigorous; handling the wooden spoon like it was a weapon and practically tearing the mixture a new one with it. Long story short: the Krispies were more delicate than Dean assumed, and after crushing them all into dust in the chocolate, he resigned himself to starting from the very beginning again, all the while glancing anxiously at the clock.

Getting the (fucking perfectly stirred, point two to Dean) mixture into the stupid paper cases was harder than it looked, too; he’d bought the cheapest ones, and they turned out to be the flimsiest little pieces of crap Dean had ever seen. The mixture spilled out everywhere nine times out of ten, rendering Dean a bundle of expletives and four-letter words. Plus, he was rushing by this point, panicking that it wouldn’t be done in time and wanting so desperately to see the joy in Sam’s face when he came back and saw the end result, so his clumsy, hurried hands didn’t exactly help.

Once he’d spooned them all into the cases as best he could, he set about decorating them, pouring out the tiny coloured eggs over the counter and beginning to stick them onto the top of his masterpieces. Or at least, that’s what he intended to do, but no sooner had he picked up the first egg did he hear a voice calling from the hallway.

“Okay, they didn’t have your beer at the usual place, so I ended up going even further out this time. You owe me so m—“ Sam halted in the doorway to the kitchen, taking in the scene around him. Rice Krispies scattered across the floor, the entire surface within a three metre radius of Dean completely splattered with lumps of mixture and melted chocolate – and Dean, in the middle of it all, a blob of chocolate clinging to his cheek and his hair all rumpled from running his hands through it. “Um,” Sam began, searching for any kind of words. “What?” he finally settled on, cautiously advancing into the kitchen.

“Fuck,” Dean cursed, slamming the hand holding the little egg down onto the counter. The force of it split it in two, and the halves flew in opposite directions from beneath Dean’s hand, just adding to the mess.

“Hey,” Sam said, laughing a little as he came closer, his footsteps _crunch-crunch-crunching_ from the cereal all over the floor. He covered Dean’s hand with his own, squeezing a little, increasing the pressure until Dean looked up to meet his eyes. “What is all this?” Sam asked again, his eyes landing on the paper cases that Dean was trying so hard to shield from view with his body. “Did you… were you making these for me?” Sam murmured, a smile creeping across his face.

“Well, I was trying,” Dean muttered gruffly, scowling at the floor. “I just wanted to… give you Easter, or whatever. ‘M sorry, Sam.”

Sam frowned. “Why’re you sorry?”

Spreading his arms out, Dean gestured to the hurricane-esque scene around them. “I failed,” he said, like it was obvious. “They’re not even finished. They probably taste like shit. And I destroyed the kitchen.”

Sam shook his head. “No, you didn’t,” he replied, tilting Dean’s head upwards again. “Hey, thank you. I think it’s great, Dean, I don’t care about the freakin’ kitchen, okay? And I bet they taste awesome.” As if to prove his point, he darted his hand past Dean and snatched up one of the cakes, dodging Dean’s hands and dancing away with it when Dean tried to grab it back. He took a huge bite and grinned at Dean. “See? Awesome,” he told him, garbled around the mouthful.

Dean smiled. “You’re totally lying,” he said, shaking his head.

“No, I’m totally not,” Sam replied, “here, try,” and then he was launching himself at Dean armed with the other half of his Krispie cake. In seconds, Dean ended up with it smeared all around his mouth, Sam laughing somewhere near his ear.

“You fucker,” he gasped, wiping a rough palm across his face but swallowing what Sam had managed to force-feed into his mouth. Truth be told, it wasn’t half bad.

“Good, though, right?” Sam asked, and then he leaned in to drag his fingertip through a smear of chocolate that Dean hadn’t managed to get. Dean swatted him away, and Sam giggled, “You’re messy.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, fumbled behind him for the wooden spoon and then brought it forward, quickly dabbing the tip of Sam’s nose with the mix still clinging to the end of it. “So are you,” he pointed out.

“ _Asshole_ ,” Sam gasps, grabbing another cake and crushing it along Dean’s jaw, smudging it across his face while Dean mercilessly dragged his chocolate-encrusted hands through Sam’s clean, shiny hair. “Oh my god, dude, not the hair,” Sam groused, and Dean threw his head back and laughed.

“Jesus, Sammy, could you be more of a girl?” Dean chuckled, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and Sam just pulled him close with an arm around his waist and very deliberately smeared Krispie cake through Dean’s hair. “Son of a _bitch_ ,” Dean muttered, smile wiped away as he ducked out of Sam’s grip and ran a hand through his short, fine spikes.

“Right. _I’m_ the girl.”

Dean retaliated by flinging a lump of mixture at his brother that hit him square in the chest, and Sam picked up a whole cake and stuffed it directly down the back of Dean’s t-shirt. Dean tried to get some down the back of Sam’s jeans, but Sam caught his wrist and smudged leftover melted chocolate in a long line all the way up his arm like it was nothing. It went on for an indeterminate period of time, both of them laughing and breathless and carefree and completely filthy in the most innocent of definitions, until eventually Dean squawked a protest when Sam almost put chocolate in his eye and scurried to the opposite side of the room.

Sam rolled his eyes and followed him, spinning him around easily with a hand on his shoulder and pinning him to the counter. Both of them were completely covered from head-to-toe, chests heaving and silly, childish smiles pasted across their faces. Dean swept fond eyes over his brother. His smile was beaming bright enough to make Dean’s heart ache in the best of ways, and sure, maybe the majority of his cakes were currently splattered around the room or on their persons, but Sam had enjoyed himself, and Sam’s eyes were sparkling like they should have done at this time of year when they were kids, so Dean honestly didn’t care a bit.

Leaning in closer, Sam flicked his tongue out and slowly licked away one of a probable many smudges of chocolate on Dean’s cheek, and Dean gave a soft smile, closed his eyes briefly.

“Thank you,” Sam murmured, pulling back enough to look Dean in the eye. He bit his lip, smiling around it. “You didn’t have to do anything.”

“Wanted to,” Dean replied with a shrug, winding his arms around Sam’s waist. “You wanted Easter, I got you Easter, baby.”

Sam let out a low chuckle, shaking his head affectionately and ducking his head to mouth along Dean’s jaw to his lips. He drew him into a kiss that literally did make Dean weak at the knees, both his hands clutching at Sam’s forearms as he let his mouth be ravaged by Sam’s teeth and his tongue and his lips moving insistently against his own. Sam tasted like chocolate and Rice Krispies, and Dean maybe keened a little, maybe tried to suck the taste off Sam’s tongue the tiniest bit.

By the time Sam pressed his smirk into Dean’s mouth and pulled back, Dean was feeling a little unsteady, a little dazed. He blinked up at Sam and mumbled roughly, “Well, happy fuckin’ Easter.”

Sam laughed and kissed him again, one eye open and one stealthy hand creeping towards the chocolate-covered wooden spoon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you liked!


End file.
